Biohazard
by sm-exery
Summary: On the bright side, the progenitor virus doesn't top his STDs.


The original version of RE4 was about Dante fucking around in Spencer's mansion and finding out why he was so incredibly awesome. Seriously. If you aren't familiar with RE it doesn't matter because I'll be referring to characters with their established names—so in this case, Spencer is Sparda.

Eva never existed. There's some woman standing beside Sparda and his two sons in a painting—his two science-bred sons, probably—but for familiarity's sake I'm going to pretend it's Eva. Obviously this means no demons, their past is different, etc. I'll expand on that in the actual fic. He's a paranormal detective, and any demonic power he might exhibit is a product of whatever virus.

At one point Dante was named Tony, and at another he was working alongside two people—one of which was Tony. The latter is what I'll be using. The other person was named Aisha, but I'm going to pretend she's Trish.

Dante won't have a sword because lol swords in RE. Except that didn't stop Vergil from having one in the RE4 plans, but I'm going to keep it this way—Dante will be using guns and knives.

As some wide dude once said, just replace 'magic' with 'science', 'evil' with 'virus', and that's basically what RE is. No horror in this prologue because Dante ruins the mood by being Dante.

Irrelevantly now that we have no fucking hyphens to distinguish scene changes from author's notes, I guess I'll just put two line breaks before the story starts or something. : |

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

* * *

><p>It was a cold, dark night. And Trish was wearing a strapless tank top.<p>

It was a damn good night.

Tony eyed their equally impractical states of dress—Dante in too much and Trish in next to nothing—and felt marginally worse than when he'd first caught sight of the castle. It was a _castle_; raised ceilings, arched windows, and the oversized door that shut behind them with a foreboding slam.

Trish and Dante were either too brave or too horny to care.

"Kiss for good luck?" Trish was smiling, lashes lowered and gaze coy as if she hadn't heard her life seal off behind her.

Dante had selective hearing so it wasn't any surprise when he grinned perversely despite the circumstances, leaning down to replenish his luck for the day. The floor above them creaked eerily as Tony muttered under his breath, but Dante's grin only grew wider—definitely selective hearing. "I wonder if luck piles up..."

"If you're going to make out for good luck, then get a room," Tony interjected, "you can scare away the ghosts and we'll be able to cash in this castle."

"Monsters," Dante corrected, speaking relevantly for the first time but also for the most useless reason of all. "Or demons."

Trish placed her hand somewhere obscene. "Think we can charge them a watching fee?"

"Whoa, slow down, babe. We need a room first." To Dante, there was probably no such thing as obscene. "Then we can walk out of here with a million bucks."

"You won't be walking out when you've stopped walking in," Tony rolled his eyes, hoping not to sound too exasperated. They'd find it hilarious. "Stop touching each other and let's go. You guys got the blueprints?"

"Yes, virgin," Dante saluted him cheerfully with his middle finger.

Tony returned it. "Sorry I was too busy being a great detective."

"Sorry I can multitask." Dante leaned down once more. _Luck through the fucking roof._ "Mm. New lipstick?"

"Amazing catch," Trish smiled bashfully.

Tony groaned. "I'm fucked."

"I doubt it."

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><p>They arrived at a wall slightly different from what Dante had seen when he'd first walked in; the crap stretched all over the walls was a slightly less sickly colour than the ones around the doorway, healthier. There was a miniscule waft of some strange smell that no one else had seemed to notice, but Dante just chalked it up to his awesomeness. It explained a lot of things.<p>

He handed Trish her copy of the blueprints—she hadn't wanted to carry it around in her completely useless skin-tight leather pants—and gave her a rather business-like smile, mind too busy fantasizing about the mysteries to do anything else. "Alright. This is where we split."

Trish raised a smooth hand to his face, smiling back a lot less professionally. "Third time's the charm?"

Dante's smile faltered. "Third time what?"

Trish glared. "You know what I'm talking about. You're male." She tugged once at his hair. "Come on. One for the road."

"…Your lipstick tastes bad," he said quickly, only half wanting her to have heard him. Trish's response was surprisingly painless; instead of taking out her taser, she merely crossed her arms and raised a brow.

"Then what was with that Hollywood make-out session?" Her expression went back to a glare. "Did you just do it to piss Tony off?"

"Also because I love you," he replied smoothly, but with a completely unfitting look of innocence.

The taser hurt, but luckily he was able to withstand it due to being awesome. "_Hey_! I wasn't lying!" He was apparently not so awesome with woman, as seen by his girlfriend walking away from him—but really, wasn't tasering illegal? And she could hold that but not a piece of paper? "_Trish_!"

She stopped, turned, then gave him a very professional smile. "It was a kiss." She held up the weapon meaningfully once more before turning again, and continued to leave.

It was a cold, dark night indeed.


End file.
